Ash
by Rianne Pond
Summary: "Hand's off!" I yelled once more to the idiotic and apparently deaf prep team.  They stood back once more, admiring their work at de-hairing me.  I liked my hair.  I'm a man… aren't men supposed to have hair? I didn't need a style, I had one, Haymitch.


**Ash**

"Hand's off!" I yelled once more to the idiotic and apparently deaf prep team. They stood back once more, admiring their work at de-hairing me. I liked my hair. I'm a man… aren't men supposed to have hair? Well not judging by the very gay purple man in the corner, but still. My stylist was not to be found, but I didn't mind, I had a style… Haymitch.

"Now if you could-" one of them motioned to me. I looked up at him, practicing my vicious back-the-heck-off look. Considering his reaction to this stare it was getting quite good. He returned to moving around the hair gel uselessly. I sat up; hands behind my head and ankles crossed enjoying the ambience music that I'd just noticed playing in the background.

One of the ladies of the group took my hand and began filing my nails. Yes, it was a little emasculating, but she was quite attractive and kept giving me the eye… or maybe it was just her fake eyelash coming off. I let her continue but required the pushy man to get me a drink. He returned not long after with lips pursed as if he'd eaten a lemon and the most lime-green drink I'd ever seen. The lady finished with my hand and moved to the other. Just as she began winking at me once more the world turned into a blurry mess of colors. Why was the Capitol so bright? They're idiots to walk around like peacocks all the time… and that was the last thought that passed through my mind before I passed out.

I woke up in my stylists office, thank god I was clothed otherwise someone would have been seriously injured. He looked at me from the corner of the room with a sketchbook. I didn't know how to react. I sat up, not waiting for the dizziness to disappear, merely ignoring the spinning sick feeling and giving the stylist my best glare. I'm sure I looked like I had a lazy eye. I picked up the lunch lying out for me and sniffed it curiously. Did they drug this too? I set the plate down and decided I wasn't hungry. I crossed my leg on top of the other and stared at the curious little man in the corner.

"I am thinking ash."

I looked up at the stylist; the voice coming out of his petit body didn't match. He sounded almost nasally and ill, but nobody at the Capitol was ever ill, must have been a style choice. Whatever it was, it didn't work for him.

"Huh?" I muttered, unintelligently.

"You will wear ash, like a phoenix rising from the ashes," he explained. I raised a single eyebrow. This man was crazy. I'd so much rather wear the mining outfit, it was my uniform at home, I'd throw one of those on with no complaints, but no he had to be creative.

"Phoenix?" I asked incredulously. He nodded, with his hand on his chin as if he were contemplating the details of my costume. I knit my eyebrows together and cocked my head to the side. He didn't react to my obvious hatred of the idea. Instead of waiting for him to finish his proposal of the idea I stood up and left.

I choked on the black powder swirling about the four of us. Jack had managed to break skin on one of the stylists and I would be following suit fairly soon. Maysilee stood stock-still allowing them to coat her with the sticky powder that almost shimmered in the sun. If "ash" worked on anyone it was Maysilee. Our actual costumes consisted of what appeared to be scrap pieces of fabric. I wasn't embarrassed by my body but I really didn't feel it necessary to be shared on television whereas Maysilee… now it would be a crime if it weren't.

"Haymitch," she whispered. I looked up, her eyes stood out bright blue against the sparkling black. I coughed once and she giggled.

"Yes Maysilee?" I murmured, hoping more than anything that she would stop encouraging my feelings for her.

"Can you zip up the back?" She turned around and held her top from the sides. I approached her slowly, waving my stylist away. I took the zipper and slowly zipped it up; her skin was so soft even with all of the ash on her. She shivered when I pulled it up and I watched her fix her top. "So, what about these costumes?" she asked, chewing her lip subconsciously.

"I don't know," I said, looking down at the black fabric wrapped around my waist.

"At least it works on you," she giggled. I smiled a half grin at her. "Here, let me fix that," she said, moving a piece of my hair from my eyes. "Better."

"You think so?" I asked, hoping she'd say more nice things about me.

"Definitely, almost coal-miner model," she said, looking at me as if she were a stylist. I laughed, full out smiling laughing. Laughing so hard my stomach ached. She grinned at me and giggled in harmony. I was almost glad I was here. She made me the happiest I'd been in a long time.

"May, you have a little bit of dirt right there," I whispered, uncertain how'd she'd react to the nickname or the fact that I was now rubbing her cheek. She looked up at me with frightened eyes. She wasn't scared of me; no she would have pushed me away if she was afraid. She was scared of the games and rightfully so.

She reached down and held my hand and whispered in my ear, "Don't let go."

I wished we were back in District 12. I could have taken care of her, promised her no harm, held her hand for forever. I wish we'd gotten to know each other better sooner, but I'd never noticed her. Her smile and her laugh would have given me a life of happiness. I could have had the chance to protect her, keep her with her sister. Then she would have had the chance to get to know me and me to know her.

We rode on the chariot hand-in-hand. I didn't think it'd be remembered. Our outfits, though daring were nothing compared to the dazzling costumes of District 1. There wasn't a chance in the world anyone saw our intertwined hands, it wasn't an act of rebellion, it wasn't even an act for sponsors, it was merely an act of romance. It was Maysilee's comfort and my chance to tell her how I felt.


End file.
